


Until Someone Loses a Hand

by marvelsmymuse



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, attempting to write something a little darker, deadpoolweekly prompt: game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7907320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelsmymuse/pseuds/marvelsmymuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a battle, Spider-Man says the wrong thing and finds out Deadpool runs a little deeper than he initially thought.  </p>
<p>I suck at summaries, apologies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Someone Loses a Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for emotionally hurt!Wade, which is awful but true.

Spider-Man watched as the mangled mercenary rummaged through the wreckage. His stomach turned as Deadpool picked up his own severed hand out from under a trashcan lid and held it to the stump of his wrist. It had been a remarkable shot, not that he spent a lot of time admiring the talents of his villains. To be fair, it wasn’t like many of _his_ villains had talents. His were all ridiculous. He only ever had to worry about tactics and strategy when he was called in to help the Avengers. That was beside the point. He dropped down into the alley, but Deadpool barely spared him a glance.

“So if a headshot is worth 100 points, how much for a severed hand?” he quipped.

Deadpool stiffened, and Peter felt his spider sense shoot through his spine to his fingertips and toes. He knew he had stepped in it this time. He took a half step back as the merc turned to him. For the first time, he appreciated how much larger Deadpool was, and felt his brain start calculations of fight probabilities and escape routes as the weight of his aggressive focus settled on him. Peter liked it better when the man was ogling his butt and trying to cop a feel. This was not the happy freewheeling Deadpool who wanted to eat chimichangas and get in Peter’s pants. This was a Deadpool Peter had yet to encounter. This was what it felt like to be on the other end of Deadpool’s scope, and Peter’s nerves were jangling. 

“I suppose in terms of complexity, it’s more difficult, but lethality isn’t even close,” Deadpool said quietly. “It depends on which you value more. It was harder to do, but anyone can walk off a missing hand. Hell, Stark could make them a robotic one in a matter of minutes. Headshots aren’t necessarily so hard, relatively steady target, larger than a wrist, but only a few people are gonna dismiss that casually. And what’s the point of attacking if you’re not in it to win. So personally, I’d only give it 50.”

“I didn’t mean to . . .” he started.

“No, no, of course. I get it. I shake off injuries like a dog shakes off water. So why not make it a game? So who gets the credit? The jackass who cut off my hand, or Hawkeye, who I was trying to push out of the way? I mean really, how does anyone win if they only get one chance to play? So 50 points to Hawkeye. You and Stark should get together and figure out the point spread. I’m sure he’s got the whole thing stored for analysis.”

“It’s not like that,” Peter sputtered.

“No? You guys don’t call me in for the sole purpose of cannon fodder? ‘Don’t worry about Deadpool; he’ll walk it off in a day or so.’ I lost a hand, got enough ammo in my gut to outfit a platoon, and my suit’s torn to damn shreds. And where are the good guys? Debriefing? Showering? Press conference? Sure as hell not seeing if my stupid ass is all right. Because I’ll always be all right eventually, right? Even when it kills me.”

Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach. They did take advantage of him and his healing factor. It had been an afterthought for them to realize Deadpool wasn’t with them. But then again, when had he ever been invited. Since Captain America had retired, there wasn’t anyone who really gave Wade a second thought, except for Hawkeye, and he had been knocked unconscious when his earpiece shorted out and he had to take a few precious seconds to reorient himself. Which was how Deadpool had lost the hand in the first place.

Wade wiggled his fingers, twisting his wrist to check on its attachment. Satisfied, he unearthed his missing katana, as well as two knives, a gun, and Peter was pretty sure that was a garrote that he stuffed back in a pouch. The merc settled his weapons back in their holsters and turned back to square off with Spider-Man. His hero. Who didn’t seem to give two shits about him so long as no civilians were killed in the saving of New York. He scrubbed a hand over his mask in a vague attempt at clearing the frustration from his brain.

“Forget it, Spidey. Apparently I’ve come down with a bad case of feelings, and now I’m all maudlin. You want to make up the rules for the ‘Deadpool’ game, go ahead. Just let me know who wins or whatever. I’ll make them a cake or something.”

“Deadpool.” He managed as the man turned away. “Wade.”

He stopped, hands clenched, shoulders tight. “You’ve never said my name before.” It was nice, his name in that voice.

“I’m sorry. It was a bad joke, and you didn’t deserve it. Thank you, for helping us. I won’t call you again if you don’t want.”

“I don’t care anymore. Call if you need me, just leave me out of the fun and games.”

“Look, I was an ass, I’m sorry. But I know for a fact that you like games and that you have a ridiculous game console set up back at one of your stashes. So if you’re up to forgiving me, I’ll spring for pizza, and you can stomp me into oblivion at Mario Kart. Sound good?”

Wade shifted his weight from foot to foot. He did just purchase a crap load of new games. And Spidey was apologizing. Apologizing! To him of all people. For being an asshole. What was the world coming to that Deadpool was the one with the hurt feelings and Spider-Man was the one tromping all over them? He hesitated, wanting their dynamic back on its normal footing. And Spidey was willing to come more than halfway. He could work with that. He should work with that. He chewed at his lip. “Pineapple and black olive?”

“I’ll even make sure they burn the crust.”

“Deal. You’re forgiven. Let the games begin!”


End file.
